


Difference

by hafren



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-28
Updated: 2009-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-03 21:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hafren/pseuds/hafren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would make Avon commit fully to the revolution?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Difference

In the commotion on the flight deck, his answer to Gan went unnoticed, except by him.

"Is there a defence against Imipak?"

"Of course there is. It's called slavery."

He closed his eyes; he couldn't believe he had said that. He sounded like some harebrained idealist - well, like Blake, actually, caught up in his favourite Saving Humanity From Itself dream.

Zen's interruption came as a relief. "I have a message from the planet."

"I thought we were safe!" Vila's voice quavered with panic. "What is that thing; can she still get us?"

"Relax, Vila, we're out of orbit." Blake didn't sound particularly relaxed. "Send the message to my position, Zen. Jenna, where are the pursuit ships?"

"We're outrunning them. What's she got to say?"

Blake's brow furrowed as he read the screen. "It isn't from Servalan. According to this, she and her back-up have left the planet, and not with Imipak, that's still there."

"Then who the hell is sending that message?" Avon demanded. "The only other person who should have been there was the man who took the weapon, and I rather assumed that was his remains we saw on the floor."

Blake read aloud off the screen as the message continued to transmit. "It's from someone called Rashel, who says she escaped with Coser... who is dead..... we are safe because the only people on the planet are herself and....." He stopped dead.

"Well? Blake, I was marked by that thing! I would quite like to know who, thanks to you, now has the power of life and death over me."

"I'll tell you later. You and Gan. I need some time on my own. But you are safe, you can be sure of that." He got up and headed for his cabin. Avon had a retort ready about the definition of "safe", but bit it back. Blake's face was grey, and he looked sick.

He was gone some time. When he returned to the flight deck, Avon was alone on watch. Blake sat down heavily on the couch and sighed. "I'm sorry. You have a right to know."

"Should I call Gan?"

Blake shook his head. "I dropped in on him in his cabin before I came here; he knows. The other... person on the planet is a... a version of me."

"A version? What do you mean, a clone?"

"No, apparently not, some sort of copy. Servalan had it made and taken there, some sort of elaborate plot but to be honest it didn't make much sense to me."

Avon swore quietly. "So it's her creature? How safe does that make us?"

"It says it isn't. It was made by the Clonemasters and programmed for non-violence." He paused. "It has some of my memories; I don't know which ones."

"Why didn't you tell us all this at the time?"

"Because Cally was there." Blake chewed a couple of fingers and churned them through his hair. "I couldn't... Auronar use cloning, she's got clone siblings. I didn't think I could hide how much it... how much I hated the thought. I told Gan he could tell the others."

"Well, that should give them a comprehensive understanding of the situation." Avon felt an uncharacteristic twinge of regret for the sarcasm, but Blake gave no sign of even having noticed it. "And if Imipak is in the hands of a ...version of you, it seems logical to suppose that he would be willing to pass it on to us? That would certainly be worth going back for."

Blake winced. "Yes, though from what the woman said, it didn't sound keen on the idea. It's programmed to disapprove of all violence; it wants to keep Imipak safe from being used at all. But I suppose we should try."

He sounded as if it were the last place in the universe he wanted to go to. Avon asked curiously, "Why does it upset you so much?"

Blake nearly retched. "Wouldn't it upset you? Knowing there was a copy of you walking around behind your face, speaking in your voice, thinking your thoughts, sharing your memories, even?"

Avon considered the possibility. "I suppose if it tried to pass itself off as me there might be a problem. But otherwise... no, I can't really get too upset at the thought; the general level of intelligence in the population would undoubtedly be improved, if nothing else." He studied the turmoil in Blake's face, genuinely puzzled, and asked "Did Gan understand how you felt?"

Blake snorted. "He asked if it would be any different from having an identical twin."

Avon said nothing. For one thing, he was trying to work out why, though he felt no particular revulsion at the thought of a copy of himself, the idea of a second Blake in the universe really did bother him. True, one Blake about the place was enough of a danger to people who wanted a quiet life. But that didn't feel quite like the reason, somehow.

******

They teleported down to the exact location Rashel had specified, just outside the buildings. She was clearly very wary. Avon had spoken to her when they requested permission to come back - Blake fought shy of contacting the planet in case he heard his own voice replying. But Avon got the impression she managed all that sort of thing anyway. It had taken him three days to get her to agree to their return. He had carefully not mentioned the weapon, suggesting they wanted only to reassure themselves that there was no Federation presence left, but she said "You can come and see for yourselves. But no guns, and no more than two of you. And if you try to take Imipak, you're dead. I don't know if Roj could kill you, but I certainly can."

Blake had proposed going down alone, so that she'd be less nervous, but Avon wouldn't have it. "I'm curious. And it is my life under threat, as much as yours."

"Gan trusts me to sort everything out; he doesn't feel he needs to come."

"I'm not Gan."

She was there when they materialised, holding in her hand the key to their death. They held their empty hands clear of their bodies and she nodded briefly. "Roj," she called, "come and search them."

Avon saw Blake stiffen and swallow. It must be odd to hear your own name, meant for another. Then it - he - emerged from the building, his face lighting at the sight of them. He went to Blake first.

The odd thing was, Avon thought, they really didn't look quite the same. It was something in the copy's face, or rather not in it. The eyes seemed clearer, less troubled; he recalled Blake saying that it only had some of his memories. Illogically, he would have sworn Roj was younger.

He touched Blake's arm in some concern, because although the copy was doing a fairly superficial body search, Blake looked as if he might be sick at its touch. Roj seemed to notice, and spoke reassuringly to him in his own voice, which Avon could see was making matters worse. He shook his head slightly and Roj finished the search in silence before turning to him.

Now that, he had to admit, felt odd. Blake's hands, or something as like as made no difference, outlining his body, slipping under his tunic. It was vaguely distracting; he had been hearing the familiar voice for some moments before he realised it was speaking to him. He apologised and followed the others inside.

They had offered to bring provisions, but apparently there was plant life nearby, for Rashel served them stew from a big communal cookpot. Avon nibbled and wondered what it was, but Blake clearly liked it.

"It's good, isn't it?" Roj said indistinctly through a large mouthful. He smiled at his likeness, the smile Avon knew so well, while Blake's response was a polite rictus. He all but stopped eating. The copy was fascinated by him, spontaneously friendly and conversational, while Blake had trouble even looking at him. Rashel watched them both, and Avon saw that she was protective of Roj, resenting Blake's attitude to him. If they were to have any chance of convincing her to let them have Imipak, Blake would have to make a better impression.

They adjourned to another room. Like the first, it bore evidence of hasty cleaning and tidying; Avon began to think that one reason Rashel had taken some time to agree their return was that she wanted to get the place to her liking first. He turned to Roj, thinking that if he could keep the copy in conversation and away from Blake, things might relax a bit.

"Have you managed to explore much yet?"

Roj's eyes lit up. "A little. It isn't as bleak as it looks. There's a valley to the west with quite a few plants. That's how Rashel could make such good food." He beamed at her.

"Would have been tastier if you'd let me use the rats," she muttered. "Good eating on a rat."

Roj interlaced his hands in front of him. "All life is linked." An invisible shutter seemed to come down across his face; he looked as if he did not mean to discuss the matter further. Avon knew that look. Rashel let it drop, though she didn't look as if she agreed.

Avon made small talk with Roj, keeping one ear open for Rashel and Blake. Her reference to the dietary habits of the slave grades had caught Blake's interest, and he was listening avidly, interrupting with sympathetic comments as she told him how else they augmented their rations. Avon winced and went back to semi-listening as Roj expounded on the planet's vegetable life. He really could be quite dull. Avon found his ear straying more and more to Blake's expostulations about the sufferings of humanity.

It was strange; when Blake looked at Roj he obviously saw his likeness, but the more Avon looked at the copy, the more he saw difference. The way Roj linked his hands in front; the way he never chewed his fingers... Whatever memories they shared, the copy had none of Blake's habits, which seemed unreasonably important somehow.

But it was more than that. The copy was calm where Blake was animated, earth to his fire. Blake, forgetting his antipathy in indignation at Rashel's stories, was haranguing them all on the need for change now, but Roj seemed indifferent to anything except the possibility of violence, which he'd clearly been programmed to consider the worst thing that could happen. _Is there a defence against Imipak? Of course there is. It's called slavery._ This one, Avon could see, would accept slavery for himself and the galaxy sooner than take or risk life.

He began to think they had given it none of Blake's political memories; its overriding morality had been all the Clonemasters' idea. He smiled as he thought how inconvenient Servalan must have found that, and the copy, mistaking his intent, smiled back. There was something in Roj's look that Avon had noticed when they first met, a kind of admiring appraisal. He was pretty sure he wasn't wrong about the admiration; the creature was interested in him, and unaware enough to see no reason for hiding it. And that, assuming Blake shared its propensities, definitely presented interesting possibilities.

But if it got any more obvious, Blake would be noticing, and while Avon wasn't quite sure how he felt about the idea himself, he suspected Blake would be horrified to see his own feelings - if they were his - so publicly displayed on the face of his likeness. He turned slightly away from Roj and spoke to Rashel again.

"Vegetable life and rats are all very well, but hardly company. Do you really want to stay here? We could take you to a safe inhabited planet."

"What, and leave Imipak here for them?"

"No, I can see you wouldn't want to do that."

"Or take it with us, and risk someone on your safe inhabited planet getting hold of it?" Her voice was too calm, Avon thought; she knew exactly what he was getting at.

"You could give it to us," Blake said, and Avon closed his eyes in annoyance; it was too soon to be so direct. "With something like that, we could overthrow the Federation. Think of it, Rashel, all the slave grades free."

"Those who were not dead." Roj had interlaced his hands again and looked impervious to argument.

Blake gestured impatiently. "Yes, there'd be deaths. But sometimes it is worth that, to make a better life." He raised his eyebrows, fixing Roj with that eager, bright-eyed can't-you-see-I'm-right look, and Avon felt his own lips curve into a smile.

"Al life is precious. All life is linked."

Blake turned to Rashel. "What would he know? Think about it, Rashel, no more calling anyone sir or catching rats because you're hungry."

"Nothing wrong with a nice bit of rat." Though she spoke teasingly, she looked as if some part of her sympathised with Blake, but she also looked as if there were nothing to debate. _Because there isn't_, Avon suddenly realised.

"You've destroyed it, haven't you? That key's just for show; it isn't linked to anything."

He was looking at her, but it was Roj who answered, simply, "Yes. It was the safest thing to do."

Rashel said into the silence, "We are safe from that woman, as long as she thinks we might still have it. She can hardly come and check."

"Why didn't you just tell us," Avon asked, "when we asked to come back?"

"Because you wouldn't have come," Roj said, "and I wanted you to. I wanted to see him. But we could not risk even you getting hold of it. I broke the thing up and burned the bits as soon as we knew you were coming."

Blake had been silent all the while. Now he looked directly at his likeness and said, "You destroyed it. You had the means of freeing a whole empire, and you destroyed it because you wouldn't get your precious conscience dirty." The copy made to speak, and Blake cut it off. "And if you utter one more pious platitude, I shall hit you. You make me sick."

He walked off a little way. Roj stared after him, puzzled but calm. Rashel moved to Roj's side and stroked his hand, her eyes, hard and angry, following Blake. But they softened a little as she turned them on Avon.

"You'd better go and see to yours," she said.

He gave her a long look and walked over to Blake, noticing how energy and emotion seemed to radiate off him. If you touched that arm, it would surely crackle with electricity. "There would seem to be nothing to stay for," Avon remarked.

Blake nodded and touched his bracelet.

******

He was in the medical unit, looking for something for his perennial headache, when Avon came in.

"What is it," Blake asked, "are you under the weather too?"

"No. I was looking for you." He checked the shelves, found the right capsules, filled a glass with water and handed it to Blake, who looked bemused.

"Why the civility?"

Avon hesitated, then shrugged. "If you must know, meeting your alter ego was something of an education. I cherish the safety of my person, and your revolutionary schemes undoubtedly pose a threat to it. But hiding out on that literal rat-hole of a planet is more than I could stomach - besides which, I think they are deluding themselves. Servalan might not risk going there herself, but she can certainly send someone else." He paused and looked away. "I am beginning to think that even harebrained idealism is preferable to folding one's arms and accepting fate."

Blake's face kindled with pleasure. "Are you saying you're with me? Really with me?"

"Possibly." Avon was still looking away. Blake cupped his chin with one hand to turn his face, and Avon nearly cried out with the sensation. It was as if the warm hand had touched off a fuse in him; he could feel the tremor under his skin. He recalled the copy's mildly pleasing touch; the difference was unbelievable.

"I think," he said with some difficulty, "I am saying that the traits that make you a danger to life and limb are, unfortunately, also the bits of you I would miss most. Do not think this means I am about to stop caring for my personal safety. If I am going to be an active part of this revolution, I want to come out of it a winner, and to that end I want something a lot more like consultation than I have seen yet. For a start, what have you had Orac working on?"

Blake was beaming all over his face. "The location of Central Control. I want to destroy their master computer."

"Why, in the name of common sense? Orac reads computers. If the thing contains tarriel cells, which it must do, Orac can subvert it, from a safe distance, and do a lot more damage to the system."

Blake looked uncomfortable. "I worry about the power that would give us - me. I'm not sure I trust myself to use it properly."

"Oh well, then, by all means let us break it up and burn the bits. Make me a rat sandwich while you're at it."

Blake flushed. "Yes," he said slowly, "you're right, aren't you. I don't have that luxury. I'll change Orac's instructions."

A spasm of pain crossed his face and he closed his eyes. Avon took his hand. "Tomorrow will do. Go to your cabin and I'll make a hot drink. Some luxuries I can give you, if not that of a clear conscience."

"I'm not sure," Blake said happily, "that I believe this."

"Make the most of it. I shall be my normal irascible self by tomorrow, and no doubt you will be your normal lunatic one. But there are worse things to be."


End file.
